


a million ways to spend your time

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Category: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, vaguely implied threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 03:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20167549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: August 9th, 1969: Later that same day.





	a million ways to spend your time

Cliff sleeps through breakfast, but when he wakes up at ten, visiting hours are in full effect. Rick and Francesca are sitting in chairs beside his bed, wearing serious expressions. Cliff looks at them groggily for a moment, and their faces soften when they realize he's awake. On the lap table, there's a plush teddy bear with a heart, a flowering plant, and a brown paper bag that he presumes holds bagels.

"Shoulda woke me up," Cliff says, scrubbing his hands over his face, then blinking at the strong California sunlight streaming through the window. 

"No problem, partner, we haven't been here long." Rick rests the heels of his shoes on the very bottom of Cliff's bed, leaning back in the chair. "How's the leg?"

"Could be worse."

Francesca's face is solemn, her hair falling down around it. "You saved me, Cliff," she says, leaning forward to put both of her hands on Cliff's forearm. "Those people... they try to kill us."

"Yeah," Cliff replies, drawing it out. A dull throb of pain is starting to radiate inward from his hip, a reminder of events, but really, he's felt worse. Outside the room, he can hear people bustling around. He's always hated the hospital. It smells too clean, and there's a whiff of the cough medicine his mother forced on him as a child, mixed with the antiseptic he remembers from field hospitals in Korea. He'd rather be outdoors, where the sharpest smell is gasoline, maybe some horse manure. "Well. We all made it out alive. Relatively unscathed. Can't say the same for those hippies."

Francesca smiles tightly and squeezes his arm. Cliff looks at Rick, sees him trying to smother a laugh. "Did I say something funny?"

"Hippies..." Rick presses his hand over his mouth, but an odd laugh still escapes. His face screws up for a second. "Fucking hippies. Christ. It's all over the newspapers already."

"Thought all press was good press," Cliff says, as a nurse walks in bearing a tray with a little cup on it, something to dull the pain.

She glances at Rick and Francesca, who are dressed to the nines, then hands Cliff the cup. Her name tag reads _Bev_. "If your visitors would mind stepping outside, Mr. Booth, I need to check your bandage."

"They can stay, if they want. I don't care."

"How bad was it?" Rick asks the nurse, as she replaces the gauze pad. There's not much blood on the old one. Most of what Cliff remembers from the hospital last night is being surprised at the sting of the needle they used to numb him up. He tries to look down at the stab wound, but can't see much. It probably looks about the same as every other time he's gotten stitched up. 

"A nice row of stitches, and he'll need to take it easy for a few days, since the wound was deep."

"Didn't knick anything important, though, right?" Cliff asks, giving her his most winning smile. 

"I mean it about taking things slowly," Nurse Bev replies. She settles the hospital gown back around his leg, then pulls the sheet up again. "The doctor will just you some instructions when he signs for your discharge. As long as you have someone to keep you in line the next couple days, you should be able to go home this afternoon."

"He will stay with us," Francesca says. 

"I been hurt worse," Cliff tries to protest, but Francesca fixes him with a sharper look than he's ever seen from her before. He puts up his hands. "Whoa, okay. Whatever you say, darlin'."

"I'll let the doctor know. And an orderly should be in with your lunch within the hour," Nurse Bev says.

"Oh…" Cliff points at Rick and Francesca. "They brought me bagels."

She gives him an indulgent smile. To Rick and Francesca she says, "It's the codeine," before leaving the room.

"It's not the codeine," Cliff says once she's gone, although it probably is. "Get me one of those bagels, will you, Rick?"

Rick jumps up to open the bag. "I'm sure glad you're all right."

That afternoon, Rick tries to smooth talk Nurse Bev into letting him wheel Cliff out to the car, but she's having none of it. Cliff grins at him from the wheelchair, flowering plant in his lap. "Hey, if I'm laid up, who's driving you around?"

Rick points at Francesca behind the wheel of the Cadillac. She waves. 

"I've already been replaced?" Cliff puts a hand on his chest, pretending to be sad, but Rick looks genuinely hurt for a quick second, so he drops the act. "Hey, man. It's cool. No problem."

"Oh, get in the damn car," Rick mutters. 

Nurse Bev sees Cliff into the back seat of the Cadillac with his small bottle of painkillers, then Rick shuts the door. "I've never sat back here," Cliff says to Francesca as she looks at him in the rearview mirror. "In fact, I don't remember the last time I wasn't driving the car."

"I like driving this car," she replies. "In Rome I had small car, like a - _come si dice_ \- tin can?"

Cliff grins and slides down on the bench seat a little. "The Caddy's no tin can, darlin'."

"Fucking reporters tried to call all morning," Rick says, twisting around in the passenger seat to look at Cliff. "Talked to the first few, but then it started giving me a fucking headache, and we'll have to talk to the cops again later."

He digs in his pocket for a moment, then tucks a cigarette in his lip and lights it. "You want a smoke?" he mumbles around it, holding out the pack to Cliff.

"Fuck, yes." 

Rick reaches over the seat and lights it for him. "I got some pot if you need it later, you know, for the pain."

Cliff takes a long drag on the cigarette and tries to imagine Rick buying pot, on a streetcorner or behind some shady building. But he can't. "Where'd you score that from?"

"Sharon Tate," Rick says, a look on his face like he can't believe it, either. Francesca takes one hand off the wheel to smack Rick on the shoulder. "What the fuck, Frannie?" 

"You wake me up next time. Sharon Tate. Without me!"

"Well, we did almost get fucking murdered, sweetheart, I thought you taking - taking a couple pills and getting some rest was reasonable." He smokes for a moment. "I think they'll invite us over again."

Cliff shakes his head in wonder, finishing off his cigarette. 

The Polanski house looks quiet when Francesca parks the Cadillac in front of Rick's smiling mug. "What about the carpet," Cliff asks suddenly, remembering all the blood. It seems like the whole thing happened a lot longer ago than last night. Probably helped that he was tripping the entire time. Probably _definitely_ helped. 

"Cops gave me a phone number for this company that cleans that shit up," Rick replies, opening the back door and reaching in to help Cliff out. "They came this morning when we were visiting you."

Brandy is waiting expectantly just inside the front door, her tail a furious blur of excitement. "Hang on, girl," Cliff says. She lets out a small whine as they go past her. Rick's arm is warm and tight around his waist. "Wait, where we going?"

"Bed," Francesca replies. 

"Oh." Cliff is steered into the master bedroom. "But this isn't -"

"For now you are, partner," Rick says firmly, and puts Cliff on his butt at the edge of the bed, which is still unmade. "Settle in. _Brandy!_"

Cliff's best girl flies into the room and up onto the bed next to him. "Gentle, girlie," he whispers to her, as she licks his face, then sniffs at his clothes: things he stashed here, that Rick and Francesca brought to the hospital for him. "I know I smell funny. Were you good company for Francesca?" He strokes her head. "You did good last night."

"Make me a drink, _amore mio_?" Francesca asks Rick. She stretches out on the bed next to Cliff. He looks over at her. She waves a hand towards the door. "It smells funny out there."

"Chemicals," Rick says. "Cliff, drink?"

"Make it weak." A pleasant haze is one thing, passing out while Brandy still needs attention is another. He scratches behind her ears and she huffs happily, settling her head on his knee. "Who cleaned up your face, hmm?" He distinctly remembers there being blood on her muzzle.

"I did," Francesca replies. She gets off the bed to turn on the small television, her necklaces clinking against one another, but comes back to pet Brandy as well. 

"Thank you." 

Francesca smiles, then leans in to kiss his cheek. "Hey now," Rick says, as he walks back in. He's carrying a tray with three cocktail glasses. "Don't start any loving without me."

Cliff beams at him. "Is this 'hang out with the old stuntman because he's laid up' day?"

"Move the fuck over," Rick says in reply. "It's time for _The Dating Game_."

Cliff moves over, more careful of Brandy than he is of his hip. Rick passes out the drinks - "went light on the whiskey for you, pal" - then settles in on Cliff's other side. He reaches across to pat Brandy on the head and her tail wags faster, whipping against the sheets. 

"You know," Cliff muses, half to the rim of his glass before he takes a long swallow, "I'd say this was a pretty good day if not for the getting stabbed part of it."

Francesca tucks her free arm through his. "Los Angeles is very exciting."

"You better hope it won't get any more exciting than that shit," Rick says dryly, and Cliff laughs hard enough that he has to rest his suddenly tired head on Rick's shoulder as the _Dating Game_ theme music begins to play.

**Author's Note:**

> um how many WIPs for this movie is too many?
> 
> ETA note: QT tried to say Cliff was a Green Beret in WW2 when Army Special Forces wasn't a thing until 1952 SO I THINK YOU MEAN HE WAS IN KOREA, QUENTIN.


End file.
